A Moonlight Rendezvous
by Nancy Kaminski
Summary: Nick encounters Lacroix in a most unusual place.


This vignette came to me while I was on an airplane being diverted to  
Chicago to avoid ice storms in Minneapolis. It was too bumpy to type  
on my laptop (swoop! zoom! bounce! -- ah, flying in wintertime) so I  
wrote it in my mind, then transcribed it when I finally dragged home,  
only 6 hours late and sans luggage. I hope you enjoy it more than I  
enjoyed my trip home from Tucson!  
  
======================================  
A Moonlight Rendezvous (01/01)  
by Nancy Kaminski  
(c) January 31, 2001  
======================================  
  
Nicholas flitted quietly through the moon-washed courtyard. The  
plantings that filled the central garden stood out in sharp relief in  
the milky light. The voluptuous red roses that drenched the warm night  
air with their heavy scent appeared like black velvet in the color-  
drained dimness.  
  
He crossed the pillared peristyle into a dim, marble-floored room  
lined with precious objects. Looking around, he found what he sought  
in an alcove off to the side. The arrogant figure was magnificent in  
its nakedness, the expression on the austere face beckoning him  
forward as if he were a mere foot soldier called to do some menial  
task.  
  
Nicholas approached silently, admiring the marble-white skin, the  
perfection of the body that had survived unscathed for two thousand  
years to stand proudly before him. Coming to a halt in front of the  
imposing figure, he was unable to resist putting out a hand to touch  
the hard-planed chest. It was a liberty allowed few; he knew it, and  
felt the thrill of a stolen pleasure.  
  
His hand traced the strong shoulder, then trailed downward. His finger  
circled the nipple, then drifted further down the taut belly. He knew  
every curve and hollow of that body. The familiar contours brought  
back the memories of countless hours of both pleasure and pain at the  
owner's hands.  
  
Those hands... His eyes drifted to those hands that could be so cruel  
to him, and then so gentle. There was unimaginable power in those  
hands, the power to pleasure, the power to kill. They had done both,  
sometimes in the same gesture. At this moment the long, elegant  
fingers seemed to give him permission to explore further.  
  
He did. Almost reverently, he circled the figure, still running his  
hands gently over the alabaster skin, exploring every contour, the  
swell of the hardened buttocks, the dip of the spine, the breadth of  
the upper back and shoulders. "Perfection," he whispered, and drew a  
shuddering breath. He felt as if he were discovering an uncharted  
land, the form so familiar and yet at the same time so completely  
foreign.  
  
Once again facing the still form, he reached out and dared to trace  
the full lips that curved in secret, sardonic amusement. They seemed  
about to utter his name, and the eyes, haughty in the severe face,  
mocked him. "What now?" they seemed to say.  
  
Nicholas stood back for a moment as if to consider his next move. What  
now, indeed? His eyes drifted again down the lean form to the rigid  
phallus below. The memories flowed over and through him like a river  
in flood, memories of exquisite ecstasy, the frightening revelations  
of those first times...he was lost within himself while his hand,  
almost reverently, palmed the rigid shaft. He relived the pain and the  
joy at the same time, the strands of those past experiences  
inseparably intertwined.  
  
Dreamily he stroked the moon-whitened skin...and then the scrape of a  
foot rang through the echoing halls of the villa. He jarred back into  
the present and looked around in mild panic. What to do? Where to  
retreat? There was scant cover in here, only the form before him...  
  
With a muttered curse he fled silently into the recesses of the  
shadowed room, taking refuge behind a case of rare bronzes. He ceased  
his breathing as the heavy tread of the night watchman rang on the  
marble floor, passed him, and disappeared into the deeper reaches of  
the villa.  
  
Straightening up, he muttered, "Oh, yeah..." as he forced himself to  
recall his original mission here. Quickly he went back into the alcove  
and with his snowy white silk handkerchief briefly buffed his  
fingerprints from the priceless artwork. He stood back and regarded  
his handiwork, then gave a jaunty salute to the immobile face.  
"Probably the only time I'll find you speechless," he murmured.  
  
On his way out he stopped at the gift shop and picked up two souvenir  
postcards that featured the Getty Museum's latest acquisition. The  
photograph did it justice, he thought, as he admired the figure yet  
again. The ancient artist had indeed been a master.  
  
As he passed the cash register he virtuously stacked a tidy pile of  
change on the counter to pay for his postcards. He looked at the pile  
and added a quarter. He wasn't sure what the sales tax was in  
California --- best to be on the safe side.  
  
Later that evening in the hotel lobby he carefully penned a note on  
the back of the postcard. "Lacroix," he wrote, "remember that statue  
you mentioned had been lost in a wreck in the Bay of Naples? They  
found it." He signed it with an N, and then thoughtfully put the  
postcard in an envelope.  
  
Best not to titillate the youngsters who lived at the Raven and did  
menial tasks --- like bringing in the mail. It would be bad for  
discipline. And Lacroix certainly loved his discipline...  
  
He weighed the envelope in his hand thoughtfully. Then he ripped it  
open, removed the postcard, hastily applied a stamp, and dropped it in  
the hotel lobby's mailbox on the way to his room.  
  
Discipline, he thought, was vastly overrated.  
  
Finis  
  
**********  
  
The J. Paul Getty Museum in Malibu (not to be confused with the new  
Getty Museum, elsewhere in the Los Angeles area) is a recreation of a  
Roman villa. It is unspeakably lovely, and contains the most amazing  
relics of the classical world, including some *very* remarkable marble  
statues.  
  
==========================================  
comments, criticisms, and fully-illustrated guidebooks  
to the Getty may be sent to nancykam@mediaone.net  
==========================================  
  
  
  



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